


All I Want

by Vinci



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Post BoFA, Secrets, equivalent exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinci/pseuds/Vinci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is a spell that could save him but you would have to give something up in exchange for his life. It must be of great value to you." Gandalf said gravely.</p><p>"I would gladly give up my own life for his." Bilbo breathed, holding out his hands.</p><p>"No," He replied, eyes shining with sorrow. "Something greater."</p><p>Or: In which Thorin is saved but at the cost of his memories of Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BILBO: An Unexpected Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after the BOFA, Bilbo receives visitors he never thought he'd see again.

Bilbo took in a deep breath, sighing as a soft breeze touched his skin. He smiled when he heard Frodo and Sam laughing by the creek, water splashing between their fingers. Their childish merriment sent a pleasant shiver down his back and he relaxed further against the tree. He ghosted his hands over the soft blades of grass beneath his legs as he squeezed his eyes shut. The sun’s mighty rays bubbled against his skin, warming it and covering him like a comforting blanket.

He was glad he could have these quiet moments. When he had been on his adventure, he rarely could. Everything had been fast paced and dangerous but in the Shire it was different. He could banish away whatever stress and trouble he had accumulated throughout the day and drown himself in nature. He could run away, escape from his problems and from his past. He could forget about all the things he had done as a foolish Took and all that he had lost.

And he could forget about what he had left behind.

“Uncle! Uncle! Look what we found!”

Bilbo opened an eye to see Frodo jogging towards him, dark hair bouncing in the breeze. His crystal blue eyes were wide with so much excitement and joy that it brought a smile to Bilbo’s lips. The young hobbit’s fist was raised into the air and that may have been what he had so enthusiastically found. Frodo had been so rushed that he nearly tripped three times and had Bilbo been in a scolding mood he would have told the reckless hobbit to pace himself.

“What is it, my boy?” He smiled, sitting up.

Frodo shifted animatedly on his heels as he stuck his fist out, opening it to reveal a peculiarly tiny rock. It was a murky white lined with tendrils of a pale blue, radiating with its own light. A bright halo circled around it, making it look like it had almost been created by angels. It was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Isn’t it pretty?” The hobbit asked excitedly.

Even though the stone looked stunning, it sickened him. It reminded Bilbo of a long forgotten jewel, a jewel that had darkened the mind of a dwarven king. It reminded him of a time he didn’t belong to anymore. It reminded him of a forgotten love and of energetic dwarven brothers who could always make him smile. Of peaceful, starry nights wrapped in warm, tender arms and of gruff, foreign words whispered lovingly in pleasant ecstasy.

“It’s beautiful.” Bilbo swallowed thickly, turning away from the stone.

Frodo beamed happily before returning to the water and playfully tackling Sam who had been bent over looking for more unique underwater treasures.

Bilbo let out a tense breath, chest tightening as he remembered a sturdy, handsome face framed by long, dark, midnight hair. Bright cerulean eyes formed in his mind, staring down at him as if he was the most precious jewel in existence. Bilbo tried to banish the thoughts, to push them back and focus on the present but they were so enticing and so tempting that he didn’t want to.

He wanted things to go back to the way they were but he knew that was an impossible dream. What’s done was done. He couldn’t change the past. His home was the Shire now. It was never Erebor no matter how many times Thorin had said it would be. Or, at least, what _his_ Thorin had said.

He belonged in the Shire now.

* * *

 

“That is why you must be careful, Frodo. You mustn’t go running off so recklessly. What if you had been alone? You could have been hurt worse than this. Don’t do that ever again. Do you understand?” Bilbo admonished as he adjusted his grip on the tiny hobbit. He occasionally patted Sam’s head whenever he noticed the blond’s guilty expression.

“Yes, Uncle.” Frodo mumbled, burying his head in Bilbo’s chest.

When the older hobbit had been lost in deep thoughts of the past, his adventurous nephew had decided to climb a tree that he knew was out of his uncle’s line of sight. He slipped and fell, causing a frantic Sam to call for him. Frodo sustained several scratches and a sprained right ankle. Because of this, Bilbo hated the fact that they were both part Took. Their Tookish side always got them into trouble.

“Sam, would you mind getting the mail for me?”

The small Gamgee hurried past them, standing on his toes to reach for the envelopes peeking out of the mailbox. Bilbo walked past him and up the steps of Bag End, determined to treat his reckless nephew’s wounds. He had been halfway through the door when Sam called back to him.

“What’s an ‘Erebor’?”

Bilbo froze, hands tightening around Frodo.

It wasn’t possible for him to receive mail from that place. He was sure they didn’t want anything to do with him anymore after what he had done. What could they possibly want with him now?

He turned around silently, holding a hand out for the envelope. Sam gave it to him in confusion and grumbled when the older hobbit sent him back to his house. Bilbo wordlessly went into Bag End and closed the door, ignoring Frodo’s curious questions. He set his nephew down on a chair in the living room and finally held up the letter.

It was in a simple cream colored envelope and on it was the rough scratch of Balin’s name and with it Bilbo’s. He shakily moved to open it but stopped himself when Frodo made a hiss of pain in an attempt to get up. Bilbo put the letter down on the table and went to fetch his bandages and dressings.

He quietly cleaned the wounds around the hobbit’s tiny legs and thoroughly refrained from answering his nephew’s numerous questions about the letter. It sat heavily in the back of his mind like a dead weight on his shoulders. Or like a dark shadow in the corner of the room. This letter would only bring bad news.

“Uncle? Uncle! Erebor is that place with the dwarves, right? That place you went on a journey to? Are they asking you to go back? Can I come? Please?” Frodo bounced on the chair wildly.

Bilbo wrapped the child’s ankle in bandages before replying, “I don’t know what it says yet.”

“Read it! Read it!” He grinned.

The older hobbit stood up and put away the supplies. He walked unsteadily and nervously back to the living room and grasped the envelope tightly in his hands. Since it was from Balin, it meant it wasn’t a personal letter. It would surely have to do something with Thorin or Erebor. That only made his nerves run even further from him.

He slid it open and began to read.

_Dear Master Baggins,_

_I know it has been quite a while since we’ve last spoken and we didn’t exactly part on good terms. But that is not the reason I wrote to you. The dwarves of Erebor have business with the dwarves of the Blue Mountains and have sent two envoys to barter terms for continued trade and relations. I know you had made this declaration in happier times but I hope Bag End will still hold its door open to the dwarves of Erebor. I only wish for you to give food and shelter to our ambassadors until they feel ready to continue on to the Blue Mountains._

_I hope you are doing well. The others are still doing wonderfully but Thorin has still yet to remember you. I know that must be hard on you and I also know that what you did with the Arkenstone was necessary for our safety. All I want to say is that I still consider you a friend. I hope this is a mutual thought._

_Your companion,_

_Balin_

Bilbo set the letter down, eyes blank as he fixed them to his rug. He would gladly house whatever dwarves Erebor would send. He owed them that much. But Balin still considered him a friend even after all he did and even after his sudden departure. He still had a friend in Erebor and that made his heart flutter happily for a short moment but it soon died down to a repulsive slow.

_Thorin has still yet to remember you._

This was the way it was supposed to be. That was Bilbo’s sacrifice. It was his forbidden secret and his sickening responsibility.

Bilbo stepped into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea hurriedly explaining to Frodo that they would be expecting visitors in the next few days. He took in the sweet smell of chamomile and nearly dropped his mug when a fist pounded against the door. He gazed out the window curiously but couldn’t see who it was. It surely wasn’t the dwarven representatives Balin had spoken about in his letter. It was too soon for them to appear.

He swung the door open and let out a terrified gasp. His mug of tea fell from his grasp, hitting the floor with a loud crack and sending shards of glass and tea into different directions. He clung to the door for support as he took in the sight before him. It wasn’t possible.

“Master Baggins,” Fili said lacking his usual enthusiasm.

The young blonde looked just as he did two years ago. He had been injured during the Battle of Five Armies but no one had left unscathed. Fili had sustained a wound to his shoulder and to his stomach. Additionally, he had a long pale scar that extended diagonally down his left cheek. Other than that, the dwarf looked relatively normal.

However, what had affected Bilbo the most was the look in Fili’s eyes. There was no energetic spark blazing behind his blue orbs or a childish curiosity fluttering between his irises. And it was because of this that Bilbo knew their shared past was not forgotten. He had been silly to think that Fili would greet him like an old friend. Their closeness was gone.

“C-Come in,” Bilbo stuttered as he stepped aside. “Where’s Kili?”

“He’s saddling the horses. He’ll be around.”

“Ah,” He shifted around uncomfortably as Fili deposited his coat on the hanger.

The dwarf studied the tiny hobbit looking up at him with wide eyes and smiled at him saying, “Fili, at your service.”

“You’re a dwarf?” Frodo asked quietly.

“Fili is a prince from Erebor.” Bilbo coughed, looking out the door nervously.

“Really?”

The dwarf nodded, bending down to take the hobbit’s hand. “And who are you?”

“Frodo Baggins! I’m Uncle Bilbo’s nephew.” The young child stood on his toes to touch the scar at the blond’s cheek. “How did you get this?”

“I…protected someone who was hurt.” Fili said vaguely as Bilbo stiffened behind him. 

“Who?” The hobbit asked unaware of the tension strengthening in the room.

“My own uncle,”

“Is he Th—”

“Ok! Enough questions, Frodo. You’re tiring out our guest. Now, go get changed for bed. I’ll be there in a moment.” Bilbo interrupted quickly.

Frodo grumpily hobbled away just as the final dwarf stepped through the doorway. Bilbo turned around to find Kili looking around the hall, a soft smile on his face. When he met Bilbo’s eyes he offered him a small smile and the hobbit happily returned it. Bilbo was glad to see Kili mostly unharmed and mostly himself. At least one of the brothers wasn’t entirely mad at him.

“Mr. Boggins.” Though still rather Kili, his voice held a tone of restraint that made Bilbo frown.

“It’s good to see you both.” He said quietly. “Y-You’re here on business with the Blue Mountains? I wasn’t expecting you for another few days or at least a week. Are you hungry?”

The rumble of Kili’s stomach was a good sign and Bilbo hurried to scrape together a meal for them. He took notice of the hushed Khuzdul that passed between the brothers but chose to pretend like he didn’t hear it. He didn’t know where to start with the two. How was he going to explain himself to the boys without saying too much? What _could_ he say? Would they believe him?

The three had grown close over the course of their journey and at the discovery of his budding relationship with Thorin, the two had taken to calling him ‘uncle’ as well. But that was a long time ago. Things had changed and Bilbo’s abrupt departure must have broken their hearts. He didn’t deserve to be their friend anymore.

“Here we are,”

He set down two plates of chicken and vegetables with a side of mashed potatoes he had made earlier in the day. The brothers quietly ate the food with Bilbo shifting on his heels awkwardly. The two eyed each other sideways several times as they ate, showing Bilbo that they had something to say. He would too.

“Oh! I’ve forgotten about the tea I spilled earlier.” He announced shakily.

Without a look in their direction, he scooped up a wash cloth and walked past them to the door. He sighed as he carefully opened it, saddened by the fact that some of the glass had been moved about by the bottom of the door. He dropped to his knees, taking in the cool night air. He let it drape over him as he cleaned the spilled liquid, breathing in the fresh air and brushing away the tension against his shoulders.

His past had finally caught up with him. He had been stupid to think that he could just runaway. It was naïve of him. He wanted to just disappear from existence, to keep his past as far away as he could. He was glad to see the boys but he knew this was only the beginning. It was only the beginning of something terrible. He could feel it in his heart.

First it was the brothers and then maybe Bofur and his relatives who would show up next. Or perhaps Dwalin and Balin. No, they would always remain by Thorin’s side and Bilbo knew the king wouldn’t visit any time soon. But that was a good thing. The further he was from Thorin Oakenshield the better.

“That’s Uncle’s,”

Bilbo jumped, nearly dropping his wash cloth in the process. He turned his head to find Fili leaning against the wall watching him suspiciously. “…What is?”

He nodded his head towards his chest and Bilbo looked down to find that at some point his necklace had escaped from underneath his shirt while he was cleaning. The dark ring fastened securely around a silver chain could be easily seen against Bilbo’s white shirt and both parties knew that it was entirely too big to be made for a hobbit.

Bilbo looked up to see Fili gazing at the ring almost fondly, lost in whatever memory that was replaying in his mind.

“Yes, it is. I…Is that a problem?” He swallowed uneasily.

“No. No. I just—” Fili let out a frustrated sigh as he quickly ran a hand through his hair. “Why did you leave?”

This was the question he dreaded, hated. It was the question that needed an answer that Bilbo couldn’t give. He really _couldn’t_.

“My task was completed. I wasn’t needed anymore.” It was _a_ truth but not _the_ truth.

“No,” Kili snapped as he stepped out of the kitchen. “You were going to live in Erebor with us, with Uncle. You wouldn’t just leave. You were going to marry him. You loved him. You loved us.”

“I made a mistake.” That sentence tore Bilbo’s heart to pieces. “I thought I did but I didn’t.”

“Then why are you still wearing his ring?” Fili demanded, crossing his arms.

“Does that really matter? I left. I abandoned you. I didn’t want to become Consort under the Mountain. I couldn’t handle it so I ran. Is that what you wanted to hear? I was a coward. I would have rather been in Bag End than in a stone cold mountain filled with dwarves.” Bilbo’s lips trembled as he spoke. The rage in Fili’s eyes and the hurt in Kili’s broke him apart.

“You never loved Thorin.”

“No, I didn’t.” He repeated.

“You’re lying.” Fili whispered. “You have to be.”

“I’m not. I can say it more times if you want. I can say it in front of the entire Shire if that is what you wish.”

“Could you say it in front of Uncle?”

“What would that do? He doesn’t remember me anyway. To him I’m nothing.” Bilbo said hoarsely.

“Is that why you left? Because he couldn’t remember you?” Kili asked weakly.

“When I found out that he had lost his memory of me, I took my chance and ran. I could finally be free of him.”

“I don’t believe you.” The young archer shouted with his brother nodding beside him. “You loved him and you still do.”

“Believe what you want.” Bilbo said, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Come on, brother. Let’s get out of here.” Fili hissed, shoving past the hobbit and into the darkness.

Kili gave Bilbo one last look, eyes shining with unshed tears, and followed his sibling out the door, slamming it and creating a loud bang.

Bilbo stared blankly at the curved wood, wash cloth forgotten between his fingers. This was the right thing to do. He needed to push them away. If he needed to make them hate him then he would gladly do it. Even if it sickened him and destroyed his heart. This was all to keep Thorin safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never like my first chapters. They always suck. ;/
> 
> But I really like the idea behind this fic. I hope you all stick around for when it gets good and angsty later on. :3
> 
> Next Chapter: THORIN: Memory loss is not fun.


	2. THORIN: A King's Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin struggles with his memory loss, wishing that there was something he could do about it.

Thorin let out a deep sigh, quill stalling in mid-stroke. He took a moment to reread the document he was signing before continuing. This parchment would reopen trade with the Mirkwood elves and reestablish relations with King Thranduil. He had been reluctant to approve of the document but he had been persuaded by Balin to push aside his personal feelings and do this for the betterment of the kingdom.

Even if he hated the tree-shagger with a passion.

If Thranduil thought he would be so easily forgiven after turning his dwarves away when they needed him the most and for imprisoning them for weeks in his dungeon then the elf was sorely mistake. But this was for Erebor. As long as Thorin didn’t need to physically see the elven king then he would be tolerable but if he set foot in the mountain then Thorin wasn’t responsible for his actions.

His friends had told him that they had escaped from the prison with the help of their burglar but Thorin had no knowledge of this. His companions had said a Bilbo Baggins was with them on their journey to reclaim the mountain but Thorin had no idea who that was. Incidentally, his friends had helped him through his memory loss by detailing their journey from their own perspectives but they had refrained from saying much about the hobbit.

At Oin’s instructions and Gandalf’s when he had been here earlier in the year, they agreed that it would be best for him to figure out the missing portions of his memory by himself. He also knew that the rest of the Company had wanted to tell him about Mr. Baggins. It was obvious from their jumpiness and eagerness that his nephews were constantly itching to tell him about Bilbo but they couldn’t. This was something Thorin needed to understand for himself.

He just didn’t know where to start.

“I hope you aren’t thinking about ripping up that document.” Balin said, entering the room with a knowing smile.

“Even though it’s tempting, it is the last thing I want to do.” Thorin sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” He coughed, pushing the paper aside. “Have Fili and Kili reached Ered Luin safely?”

“They’ve taken a slight detour.” Balin hesitated slightly before saying, “They’ve stopped in the Shire.”

“Ah,” Thorin replied flatly. “Be sure to tell them to not take too long.”

“Of course,” The older dwarf bit his lip, moving to say something but stopping himself.

“What is it?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You have a meeting with Dain Ironfoot soon to discuss the orc packs at the Ironhill’s borders.”

Thorin grunted in response, standing up and walking towards his companion. His friends normally became fidgety when it concerned  the hobbit. Whether it was because they wanted to say something about him or if they were looking to gauge a response from Thorin he didn’t know. He hated how he couldn’t remember whoever this Baggins was. He felt like a child.

* * *

 

“Everything appears to be in order.” Oin smiled as he patted Thorin’s shoulder. “You’re completely healthy.”

“Other than the memory issues,” The king mumbled.

“Other than that,” Oin replied gently. “Your memories will return in due time. Be patient.”

“When will that be? Days? Weeks? Years? Why am I only forgetting the hobbit? What is so special about him?”

“Perhaps—”

“Was he important to me? If he was, then why can’t I remember him? Why is it just him?”

“Calm down, sire.” The healer said, placing a hand to the dwarf’s forehead. “You know how you get when you try too hard to remember.”

Yes, he did. If he concentrated too hard or forced himself to fill in the missing gaps his body would shut down. It would become hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to move and he would eventually pass out. This had happened several times over the years and sometimes during meetings with foreign dignitaries. Normally, Thorin would be able to stop himself from becoming too far gone but other times his mind would just keep going until he lost consciousness.

It was this severe limitation that made the others keep from telling him about Bilbo. As much as he wanted them to say something, they would never put his health in harm’s way. They knew how reckless he could become when he was passionate about something. But he just wanted to remember.

“I know.” He said softly as he stood up. “Are we done?”

“Yes but don’t push yourself, Thorin.”

He gave the healer a curt nod before exiting the room.

He felt like a wounded stag. He didn’t understand why it was so hard for him to remember the hobbit. He had been the fourteenth member of their company. They had needed a burglar to steal the Arkenstone from Smaug and had found one in Master Baggins. That was as much as his friends had said about the forbidden topic. Other than that, Thorin knew nothing about him.

There were the few moments where the others would mention times when the hobbit was crucial in the quest. Like the trolls, Azog, and Mirkwood. But for the life of him Thorin could not put a face to the name. Bilbo was like an ethereal apparition that was worshiped by the other members of the company. And Thorin was a nonbeliever.

He was being told stories of the hobbit like he was a young child listening to fairy tales. But Thorin had been there. He was sure of it. He _knew_ Bilbo Baggins. His companions did. Fili and Kili had seemed rather fond of him as well. But what wracked his brain were the careful steps everyone took to dance around the subject.

His health wasn’t the only reason they grew nervous when Bilbo was mentioned. There was something else but Thorin still didn’t know what. Perhaps if he found out why then it would be easier for him to remember. Who was Bilbo Baggins?

Thorin stumbled slightly, nearly falling through a door. He righted himself with a strangled breath and pushed the door open. He let out a frustrated sigh when he realized where his feet had carried him.

He was standing at the entrance of the only location in Erebor that wasn’t completely encased in stone. The dark, night sky was illuminated by the bright moon and said moon casted a white glow over the various flowers that had sprouted up from the grass. Blue, red, orange, and purple colors littered the ground with bees and lightning bugs dancing between them.

Thorin didn’t know why he had made sure the garden was one of the first things to be renovated when they had retaken the mountain. He had never really been fond of flowers but for some odd reason he wanted the garden to be fixed. He normally came here when he was lost in thought or on autopilot. His feet would always somehow carry him here and he would never turn away.

He would lose himself in the flowers or drown in the stars in the sky. It was a small moment of peace in his otherwise confusing and hectic life as King Thorin II, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain. He had thought that spending his time in the forges would clear his mind but he found that this garden was more effective at clearing his mind. The forge usually made him angrier.

“I’m so complicated.” He declared to no one in particular.

Thorin walked down the steps and was immediately bombarded by the sweet scents of the flowers and bees. He sat down on one of the various benches, picking up one of the flowers in the process. He had no idea what this flower was called. It had looked nice so he had gotten some people to put them in.

No, wait. It was a bundle of hydrangeas. He remembered someone telling him that once. Perhaps it had been one of the gardeners he had hired. Probably.

_Or was it Master Baggins?_

Thorin looked back down at the flower curiously. It may have been him. He was a hobbit after all and hobbits were known for their obsession with nature. Come to think of it, Bilbo had given him something once. It had been hydrangeas, right? But why?

_“My mother had given this to me the day before she died.”_

_“Why?”_

Thorin’s hand holding the flowers began to tremble but he ignored it. He needed to focus.

_“In our culture, hydrangeas mean perseverance. She told me not to give up no matter what happens to her. So, that is why I ask you to—_

Thorin slid from the bench and to his knees, gasping. An intense headache hit against his skull, forcing his eyes shut and the flower to fall from between his fingers. He felt the world spin around him, ears ringing with a deafening sound. All feeling slipped from his limbs, sliding away like a blanket falling from his shoulders. It was going to happen again.

Thorin took in a shallow breath, hands bracing him as he fell forward. Then, he fell over completely, consciousness drifting into the darkness of the night.

* * *

 

Thorin awoke to Balin and Oin’s wide eyes staring down at him. He sat up, waving away their concerned questions and running a hand through his hair. He was in his room flanked by Balin and Oin at his bedside. Dwalin was leaning against the far wall gazing at him worriedly. He gave the bald dwarf a nod before turning back to his other companions.

“I told you not to push yourself.” The healer grumbled as he poked and prodded him.

“I didn’t.”

“Your current condition says otherwise.” Balin said with a wave of his hand.

“You can’t keep this up, Thorin.”

“I know.”

“Please be careful.”

“Come on. Leave him alone. He just woke up.” Dwalin muttered from the other side of the room. “Give him a break.”

The two dwarves shared a look before backing away and exiting the room. Dwalin walked over and sat at the edge of the bed, eyeing his friend suspiciously.

“Thanks,”

“No problem.” He replied with a smirk. “They’re right you know.”

Thorin fell back onto the bed with a huff, hands spreading out at his sides. “Yeah,”

“I know this is hard for you but you have to be patient.”

“What? So I have to sit around and wait for memories that might never come back?” Thorin hissed out angrily.

“Life hits you in the head sometimes.” Dwalin shrugged.

This was ridiculous. Thorin wanted his memories back _now._ He couldn’t just “wait patiently” like how the others wanted. He was never one to just let things happen. He needed to do something but every time he did, he would end up pushing himself too hard and losing consciousness. He was trapped.

“I need to do something, Dwalin. Tell me something about him.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Just something small, something trivial.” Thorin persisted.

His companion remained silent for a long moment and Thorin peered over his chest to see the bald dwarf gazing at the ground with furrowed brows. He let out an exasperated sigh before saying, “He likes to cook.”

“Most hobbits do.” Thorin frowned. “I need something specifically about him.”

Dwalin rubbed his eyes, mumbling something about stubborn dwarves. “His favorite color is green.”

Thorin grunted in response, blinking up at the ceiling silently. He waited for anything to come to mind but nothing did, not even a passing thought. He sat up in frustration, running a hand over his face. “This is useless.”

“We told you to wait.”

Thorin gave his friend a staggering glare, hands clenching at his sides. He hated how he was being treated like a child. It was as if he was supposed to be waiting for dinner but wanted snack after snack until his meal was spoiled. They were treating him like he was a hurt bird, fawning over him as if he would fall at any moment.

He was a king for Mahal’s sake. He could handle himself.

But it was just so hard to wait. He hated not being in control. He hated not knowing what to do. He hated being left out. He hated not knowing Bilbo Baggins. And he hated himself for getting into this mess. It was so frustrating.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this seems a bit slow but it'll get good later on! I promise :D
> 
> Did I write Thorin ok? I'm a little mixed about him. 
> 
> Next Chapter: FRODO: The little hobbit can't mind his own business :3
> 
> **EDIT!! I don't know why the Notes below these are there. They're from the previous chapter. Ignore them. xD**


	3. FRODO: Nothing Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo discovers that his uncle might be spiraling downward into something bad.

Frodo liked his uncle. He liked him a lot actually. He was sad when Bilbo was sad and happy when he was happy too. Because of this, Frodo had made it his personal mission to make sure his uncle was always happy. Should his plan succeed, there would never be a frown on Bilbo’s face. Ever.

But Frodo’s mission was hard. He would often find his uncle gazing out into nothingness, eyes as blank as the pages in his study. He would be so expressionless that it would sometimes scare the young hobbit. Frodo always wanted to know what went through his uncle’s mind whenever he went into that strange trance. He had taken to calling it the Nothing Face.

Part of him thought it was because he was daydreaming but another part knew it had something to do with the adventure he had gone on years ago. Bilbo never really spoke about his journey, only ever saying small snippets about the rambunctious dwarves he travelled with. He had spoken about his cooking lessons from Bombur and his rather one sided conversations with Bifur but besides these stories, Frodo didn’t know what he had gone through.

Though, he knew of Fili, Kili and Thorin. Bilbo would sometimes animatedly get carried away about the two brothers and the crazy situations they had gotten into. Because of this, Frodo had been happy to finally meet them when they had shown up at Bag End. Unfortunately, they left soon after and that only soured his mood.

Whenever Bilbo talked of Thorin, it would almost always result in him cutting himself off at times or going into Nothing Face. He would always talk of the dwarf so fondly and tenderly that Frodo had inferred that he like, liked him. Not like but like, like. Like the way Sam would always look at his neighbor whenever he passed by her house. Bilbo _really_ liked the dwarf and sometimes Frodo would find that the hobbit couldn’t continue what he was saying because his voice would become weird and hoarse.

But Frodo had learned a lot about Thorin. He found out about all of the great deeds he had done and the great lengths he would go through to make sure someone was safe. He was loyal, grandiose, intimidating, kind, straightforward, and very passionate. By the way his uncle had described him, Frodo couldn’t wait to meet him. But Bilbo had once said that he would never be able to meet him because he was very far away. Why couldn’t they just go to him?

“He’s doing it again.” Sam sighed as he tucked a daisy into Frodo’s hair.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing Face,”

Frodo looked over his shoulder to see his uncle sitting on the bench outside of Bag End, pipe in hand. It was dangling between his fingers like it had been forgotten. He was illuminated by the afternoon light, entire body encased in a soft glow. However, his eyes were empty, scarily so. He appeared to be gazing at everything and nothing. Frodo couldn’t tell but he never liked when Bilbo got that way.

He truly wanted to know why his uncle fell into these trances. It was as though he was replaying a single memory over and over in his mind or contemplating the existence of the universe. Regardless, the look unsettled Frodo. It scared him.

Suddenly, Bilbo’s head popped up in surprise, eyes finally focusing on something tangible. He frowned deeply, fiddling nervously with the pipe in his hands. Soon, Fili and Kili came over the hill and straight to Bilbo. They stopped in front of him, looking down at him almost accusingly. The older hobbit’s lips began to move and that was when Frodo jumped to his feet.

“Come on!” He whispered to Sam, tugging him towards the house. They crouched down behind the fence perfectly hidden but able to clearly see the trio out front.

“I don’t think we should—”

“Shh!” He covered his hand over his friend’s mouth.

“You didn’t think we would leave that easily, did you?” Fili grinned, nudging his brother.

Bilbo took in a deep breath before saying, “I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t think you wanted to see me again after what I had said.”

“You see, we’ve thought about that.” Kili nodded resolutely.

“We think you’re lying.” His brother continued.

“Yep, lying.”

“I mean, it’s the only logical explanation.” Fili shrugged.

“We know you.”

“And we also know that you would never say something like that. You never would even after everything that had happened with the gold sickness and the Arkenstone.”

“So, that’s why we’re going to stay with you in Bag End until we figure out _why_ you’re lying.”

“We hope that’s not a problem.” Fili finished with a triumphant smile.

The two brothers trudged past Bilbo and up the steps, leaving a rather flummoxed hobbit in their wake. He stood up and turned towards them, eyes as wide as saucers. He dropped his pipe, throwing his head into his hands in the process. He slid to his knees, mumbling to himself so quietly that Frodo couldn’t hear.

Then, he took in a deep breath, stood up and dusted his pants off. He cleared his throat and followed the brothers inside.

“What just happened?” Sam asked as he got up from the ground.

“I don’t know but I like it.” The hobbit grinned.

“Because Fili and Kili are going to be staying with you?”

Frodo shook his head. “Uncle looked better. While he was listening to them speak, he was actually paying attention. Usually, when I talk to him he seems out of it. Like he’s thinking about something else. But with them it was different. I don’t know. It’s kind of confusing.”

“So…the dwarves being here is a good thing?”

“Yep!”

* * *

 

The next time Frodo overheard them was when he was walking out of the bathroom and to his bed. He had caught the whisper of hushed words in the wind, veering him from his course and to the living room. As he neared, he began to separate voices. He counted three.

His uncle had been rather vague about the length of Fili and Kili’s stay with them. He had only mentioned that they would be staying until they found the right time to go to the Blue Mountains. Though Frodo was glad to have visitors, he didn’t like how fidgety Bilbo had become ever since their appearance. He was more spooked, more agitated, and overall rather unstable.

This was not doing well for Frodo’s mission.

Perhaps the dwarves being in Bag End was a bad thing. Bilbo certainly didn’t want them there but they didn’t seem to care. Or maybe their presence was a good thing. They could help Frodo get Bilbo out of whatever slump he was in. But he didn’t know. This was all too much for a young child to process.

“…know you love Uncle Thorin.” He heard Kili say.

“You wouldn’t lie about that.” Fili added.

“You can keep saying that all you want.” Bilbo huffed shortly. “I’m not going to take back what I said.”

“But—”

“Maybe it’s so hard for you two to believe this because you can’t accept the fact that I never cared for you. I made it seem like I did to get into your uncle’s good graces.”

“No, that’s not true.” Fili said slowly, voice wavering slightly.

“Stop acting like stubborn children!” Bilbo shouted, the sudden outburst startling the eavesdropping hobbit. “I left, ok? You can’t change my mind about going back. I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay here anymore.”

“We’re still staying.” Kili whispered harshly. “We still…we still think you’re lying.”

“If that is what you believe then I feel sorry for you.”

Soon, the two dwarves stormed around the corner, nearly toppling over Frodo in the process. Fili barely gave him a passing glance as he walked by but Kili managed to give him an apologetic smile before escaping into the guest room with his brother. The gruff sounds of another language could be heard tumbling from the bottom of the door, the rough scuff of boots against wood littering into the mix.

Frodo slowly stood up from his crouched position, hand lingering on the wall.

He didn’t understand. His uncle loved Thorin, didn’t he? If he did, then why did he keep telling the dwarves that he didn’t? From the way he talked of the king, it was obvious that he was still captivated by him. The ring around his neck was another given. Bilbo had never exactly told him who originally had the ring but Frodo wasn’t stupid.

He rounded the corner and halted in his tracks, frowning deeply. His uncle was seated in his armchair, hands folded into his lap. The soft glow of the fire peppered the side of his skin with an orange sheen that would have normally made him look peaceful. But today it touched his skin like a bad omen, eerie and foreboding. He didn’t move to acknowledge his nephew’s presence but Frodo wasn’t surprised.

He was in Nothing Face again. This time, however, it chilled the young hobbit to his bones. His uncle’s face was so horridly bare that it made him look ghostly, otherworldly. He was completely void of emotion, lips drawn into a pensive line. His normally radiant blue eyes were downcast and glazed over with a darkness that Frodo would never understand.

He could try to but he knew that he would never know what Bilbo was thinking when he had Nothing Face. It would be a permanent barrier between them that Frodo just had to accept. Nothing Face was a result of something that he barely knew about but he was sure it had something to do with the dwarves. Once the two brothers had arrived, Nothing Face had increased its appearance. That was no coincidence.

Frodo cautiously approached his uncle, placing a hand on his knee as he sat in front of him. Bilbo’s head slowly turned towards him, eyes refocusing with the movement. He offered his nephew a small smile that was laced with the poison of memories that were his and his alone.

“Tell me about him.” Frodo said quietly, resting his head against Bilbo’s knee.

The hobbit blinked at him. “Who?”

“Thorin,”

Bilbo’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before settling back into normalcy. “What do you want to know? I’ve already told you many stories of him.”

Frodo opened his mouth but shut it immediately when he realized how invasive he was going to be. He shook his head of his respectable hobbit nature and asked, “Do you love him?”

Bilbo took in a shaky breath but smiled nonetheless. “I did once.”

“No,” Frodo snapped, brows drawing together into a frown. “You still do. I can tell.”

“You don’t understand, d—”

“You talk about him like you still love him. And you do. Why are you lying to Fili and Kili? Are you scared of something? Should I be too?”

“It’s not that simple.” He swallowed. “You’re too young to understand.”

“Then help me,”

They remained in a thickening silence for a long moment, eyes locked together in an eternal battle. Suddenly, Bilbo looked away, trembling arms rising to wrap around him. His face threatened to fall back into nothingness but the squeeze of his knee brought him back to reality. He turned back to his nephew, eyes shining with pure emotion.

“It’s not that simple.” He repeated in a quiet voice, so quiet that Frodo had to strain his ears to hear him.

“But—”

“Time for bed!” Bilbo announced more to himself than Frodo. He shot up from the chair and breezed past the hobbit on the ground. He turned around and with a face of pure neutrality said, “Come along, Frodo.”

His nephew could do nothing but meekly follow behind his uncle as they walked down the hall. They passed the guestroom and Frodo could still hear the hurried whispers from behind the door. Bilbo paid it no mind as he entered Frodo’s room, tucking the small hobbit into his bed sheets and kissing his forehead. He turned around to leave but Frodo grabbed his wrist to pull him back.

“Wait!” He called, causing his uncle to turn back around.

And there it was again. It was so obvious that it hurt Frodo every time he saw it. It was like it was mocking him, telling him how useless he was. He would never be able to get rid of the expression. He would never be able to make Bilbo happy. It was hanging above his uncle’s head like a thundercloud, drowning him further and further into the pains of his past. It was a warning sign, a cry for help. But Frodo couldn’t do anything when the person desperate for support was pushing him away as well.

He was just a child anyway. What could he do? He barely understood Bilbo most of the time because of the foreboding storm he hid beneath with a broken umbrella. He said things but never said enough. He never said what was important. That’s why the others in the Shire had called him unsociable, different. He hadn’t been the same ever since he had come back from his journey. Whatever had happened was locked in a chest buried deep within the depths of Bilbo’s mind. And Frodo could see it right now.

It was staring him right in the eyes. It was practically screaming at him to do something, help his uncle, and make him tell Frodo of his forbidden past. But he couldn’t. Bilbo was keeping him from getting close, holding him at a distance. So, all he could do was stare, watch as it consumed his uncle, watch as it destroyed him.

Nothing Face.           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurr hurr. We're on our way :3
> 
> Oh and if you're one of my Wax and The Figure readers I'm sorry about the delay. Writer's Block. Apparently I can write this but not that story. ;/
> 
> Next Chapter: DWALIN: It's tough being best friend to an amnesiac king


	4. DWALIN: Something Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a few things that Dwalin has to deal with as best friend to the King under the Mountain

**Absentmindedness  
**

Dwalin let out a deep sigh when he realized Thorin had stopped listening to what he was saying. He knew he should have gotten used to this by now but he stupidly thought that a king would actually listen when someone was speaking to him. Regardless, Dwalin never took it to heart. He always knew Thorin couldn’t help it sometimes. Nowadays it was easier for his mind to wander.

Ever since the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin had never been the same. Oin had attributed it to his memory loss and in a sense it was but Dwalin could tell what was really going on. Thorin was without Bilbo, without his One and it was affecting him mentally. He was becoming easily distracted, more frustrated, and more disastrous as the days went on.

However, Dwalin had never heard of a situation where a dwarf forgot about his One. Was Bilbo still Thorin’s One even when the dwarf thought that he had still yet to meet him? Granted, Dwalin was merely assuming the changes to his king were a result of his separation from Bilbo but he could be wrong. Perhaps it really was his memory loss and Dwalin was just grasping at strings.

“You have a meeting with the Bard of Laketown in a few minutes.”

Thorin grunted noncommittally and had there been a window he would have been gazing out of it dreamily. Instead, he had settled on absently drawing a circle on a paper that was more than likely important. He had been in the motion for quite some time now, the circle growing incredibly dark. By now the action had become robotic even though he was gazing down in the direction of his quill.

“Thorin,”

The king remained unresponsive, eyes glazing over with thoughts Dwalin could not comprehend.

“Thorin!” He shouted louder, hitting the desk with his hand.

The dwarf finally looked up at him, brows drawing together in confusion. “What?”

Dwalin merely rolled his eyes at the casual question, annoyed at the fact that Thorin had failed to notice how out of it he had been.

* * *

 

**Memories**

“Perhaps,” Thorin mumbled as he walked down the hallway, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“No, it’s not a ‘perhaps’. Thranduil is still out to get you. It doesn’t matter if he has all of the gold in Erebor. He wants your head.” Dwalin said loudly.

“It might seem that way but that’s just the way the tree-shagger behaves. Now that he has his gold and most of his enemies have been dealt with, he can lounge around in his kingdom for the rest of eternity. He’s merely rubbing it in our faces.” He replied, slowly running his fingers through his hair.

“And you’re ok with that? I can’t believe his perfumed fish-catching pixie of an emissary walked around like he ran the place. He looked more like a grocer than an ambassador.” Dwalin grumbled.

Thorin suddenly stopped walking, fingers stalling in his hair. He turned around sharply, eyes blown wide with recognition. “What did you say?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought…never mind,” He turned back around and continued walking, hand falling to his side.

Knowing that their conversation had ended, Dwalin frowned. Thorin never wanted to continue talking after he had one of these moments. He would sew his lips shut in deep thought, pushing Dwalin away until he finally figured out why whatever he said was familiar. Frankly, it annoyed the tattooed dwarf to no end.

It annoyed him because he always knew what would set Thorin off. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself and say a familiar phrase, forgetting that the king had amnesia. His punishment would be the deafening silence that followed. It would always remind him of the missing pieces of Thorin’s memories, the pieces that everyone else remembered. There would always be that small gap between the king and his friends, that one thing that would always separate them.

He hated how he couldn’t tell Thorin about any of it. He hated the fact that he had to watch his friend suffer, hated the darkness in the king’s eyes. And he hated Bilbo Baggins for leaving when Thorin needed him the most.

* * *

 

**Interruptions**

Dwalin stepped closer when he saw his king squeeze his eyes shut, fingers rubbing at his temples. His brows were drawn together in deep concentration and Dwalin was glad that there wasn’t anyone else in the throne room to see this sudden change in their monarch.

“Thorin?”

The dwarf quickly held a hand up to silence him but soon let out a flurry of curses, eyes opening to stare accusingly at his captain of the guards. He stood up, hands balling into fists as he grew to his full height. He leveled a staggering glare at his friend, lips pressed together to control his anger. His chest prominently rose and fell with the anger that bubbled every time he took a breath.  

“…What did I do?” Dwalin asked in exasperation, folding his arms.

“It’s not coming back. If you hadn’t interrupted I would have—” Thorin stopped himself with a shake of his head. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

The king stormed past him, throwing his hands into the air with a fury. Dwalin silently watched him leave, shaking his head. He was used to this.

Sometimes out of nowhere Thorin would suddenly remember something whether it was an entire memory or a small little fact about Bilbo. Whenever this happened, Thorin would throw his entire focus on the memory no matter what he was doing. On several occasions it would happen while he would be talking to Dwalin. The king would immediately stop talking and disappear into his mind.

However, when someone went to speak to him or rouse him out of his stupor, he would quickly lose the memory. He always tried to chase it back but it never returned. Because of this, Thorin would grow incredibly anger or at least thoroughly frustrated and take it out on whoever happened to be nearby.

Most of the time it was Dwalin but the tattooed dwarf didn’t care. He knew Thorin was desperate to have his memories back, so desperate that he would give anything to have them returned. His king wasn’t exactly having the best time at the moment so a few amnesiac induced hissy fits were to be expected. But it didn’t matter. Dwalin would endure anything for his friend.

* * *

 

**Anger**

Dwalin didn’t even bother calming the pacing dwarf. That would do more harm than good and Dwalin knew that from experience. Thorin had just woken up from another one of his memory lapses and the first thing he had chosen to do was pace around the room. The king normally did that when he was fighting the urge to punch a wall or cause any other form of bodily harm. That was the reason Dwalin would allow him to walk in circles until he tired himself out.

Thorin was currently moving between the walls of his bedroom, muttering quietly to himself. Dwalin would occasionally hear what he was saying but it was difficult from his spot at the fireplace. The things he had caught, however, usually involved Thorin belittling himself or raging about his present situation, complaining about his pathetic memory loss.

“Walking back and forth isn’t going to fix anything.” Dwalin sighed.

The scuff of boots stopped suddenly and Dwalin looked up from the chair to see Thorin staring down at the ground intently, eyes murky and dark. “I know. I just—It—”

The king quickly turned away and began pacing again. That jumble of words was what Dwalin usually got out of Thorin. The dwarf had never really been one to openly express himself in his words or his emotions and having the latter supercharged by his condition unbalanced him, threw him out of his comfort zone. So, it was perfectly logical for Thorin to have difficulty in saying what was on his mind, especially right now.

Luckily, Thorin was friends with someone who didn’t like to talk just as much as he did. If Balin had been in the room he would have annoyed the dwarf with his countless questions. Dwalin understood that it was best to allow Thorin to go through the motions and _then_ speak to him about it. It was best for everyone’s health.

But Dwalin had to admit that it pained him to see his king like this. The normally calm, collected, and controlled monarch was being thrown asunder by his condition, making him short-tempered, frustrated, and angry. It made Thorin someone he wasn’t. Granted, Thorin had always had his bad qualities but his memory loss had brought forth the king’s vices, making them the more prominent emotions. And Dwalin hated that this was a result of the loss of the person who had made him a better dwarf.

That Bilbo still had control over someone who had no idea who he was.

* * *

 

**Sadness**

These were the moments Dwalin dreaded the most, the moments that made him realize how much Thorin was suffering. On a sleepless night, Dwalin would find Thorin laid out across the grass of his garden staring up at the stars in the sky. His eyes would be glazed over with forgotten memories, memories that he might never get back. He’d be without his crown, without his jewels, and without his robes.

He would be a dwarf crumbling under the pressures of his amnesia.

The only sounds would be the hoots of owls and buzzing of fireflies and Thorin would appear outside of himself, not entirely there. He’d be frozen in time, thoughts miles away in a far off land of hobbits and their own gardens. But that place would be meaningless to him. The Shire didn’t hold the same value to him as it did Dwalin. To Thorin he had never set foot in Bag End or had never gotten lost trying to find the place. He had never seen Bilbo faint or remembered singing forgotten songs about misty mountains and lost gold.

There would always be that integral piece missing from his memory, that one person who had changed him for the better and that one person who had left him forever.

And as Dwalin stood above him, he could see it all in Thorin’s eyes. It was the past and present clashing together for dominance. It was the king’s fragile consciousness. And it was Thorin’s helplessness hitting Dwalin right in the chin.

What could he do for someone that was injured mentally? He knew how to treat physical wounds. Those were easy. But a broken mind was hard to fix without the right pieces. And one of those pieces was somewhere to the west living in the Shire.

Perhaps that was why the silly idea had come to his mind. Or perhaps it had been the moment Thorin’s gaze shifted from the stars to him, offering his friend a tired smile. This was something Dwalin could do for him. He didn’t know whether it was a good idea or a completely terrible one but it was something and he was all out of options. He couldn’t just sit by and watch his best friend rot away within a dark mountain.

Perhaps it was also because Dwalin wanted answers from the hobbit. He wanted to know why he had left, why he had just abandoned Thorin. He wouldn’t just do that without a good reason. Bilbo was to marry Thorin and live with him in Erebor. What had changed?

“Maybe we should go to the Blue Mountains as well.” Dwalin said softly.

Thorin raised a curious brow asking, “Why?”

“Fili and Kili might need a little assistance. You also look like you need some time away from all of this. Dis and Balin would be able to handle things while we’re gone. We could make a few stops on the way.” _Like the Shire_

“They don’t need our help.” The king said but Dwalin could already see the idea forming in Thorin’s head.

It was there sprouting like a seed in a rainstorm, growing at an unstoppable rate. They would be in the Shire in no time.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress!! The chapters after this will be getting longer. 
> 
> Next Chapter: BILBO & THORIN: Thorin meets Bilbo for the very first time.


End file.
